Summary: Being thrown into The Hunger Games with the girl he's almost sure he's in love with is not the only thing The Capitol has done to try to break him. What if he had suffered from The Capitol's cruelty long before? What if District Twelve was not his first home? There is much more to Peeta Mellark than bread and a kind heart.
So. Here's something that's been keeping me up some nights.
I guess, that if you wanna have an explenation to what this HG fanfic really is about:
First, should tell you that his story is told from Peeta's point of view and, like it said on the summary, it's an AU, but I tried to stay as canon as possible! The big changes that I've made, you will notice as the story unfolds, it's on the characters. (Of course, they are still sweet, handsome, dreamy Peeta, and clueless, fearless, awesome Katniss.) The thing is that Peeta, like it kinda shows in this chapter, seems to have some kind of really dark and scary past (you'll see later in the story what's that all about, of course; mistery, my friends), which makes him bolder and fierce.
This dark past blablubla it's what keeps our dear Peeta up at nights.
The first chapter may be a little boring and canon, but it's the beginning and couldn't help follow the storyline as much as I did. There is a small presentation of Peeta's family too.
So enjoy and tell me what you think :D
Disclaimer: I'm don't own The Hunger Games, sadly :'(
Chapter 1.
I've been up in the air
Out of my head
Stuck in a moment of emotion I destroyed.
Is this the end I feel?
Up in the air ―30 Seconds to Mars
-KP-
Cries. Heat. Red.
Pain.
I jump upwards in my bed, a lump stuck in my throat as cold sweat runs down my back. The pain in my arms is so genuine that I can actually feel the needles piercing my skin and realising that burning feeling inside me, expanding itself throughout my whole body. It lasts just a few seconds, like every morning after a sleepless night filled with nightmares, and I can finally take air in again. I look down and find my body tangled in a mess of damped sheets, while I ran a hand through my ash blond hair.
I can't help the sigh that escapes me.
It's been a while since the last time I had the nightmares ―maybe two weeks ago― and I'm not surprised they're back. When I was younger, the first years I spent here in Twelve, the constant nightmares were agonizing and clear images of my days back in the Capitol, and to my luck, time was healing for me. It didn't wash away what happened, but it makes it easier to wake up every new day; it's like weight keeps being taken off of my shoulders.
When remembering is emotionally and physically painful, however, I want nothing else but to be able to forget. I don't think they will ever disappear, anyway, because even though they sicken me, the nightmares are a reminder of what I've been through in the past. Yes, sometimes I wish I could make them go away, but they keep me sane, they are a proof that those blurred memories are real and I'm not crazy.
They are a proof of the Capitol's boundless cruelty.
After so many years, I can say I'm used to waking up like this in the mornings; nevertheless, it doesn't and won't ever make it more bearable. Nightmares are even worse when bad things are coming. Like today.
Today is the reaping.
The Capitol will choose a male and female tribute of each District ―in between the ages of 12 and 18― to go and compete for their lives in a selected arena, while the rest of Panem watches as they kill each other in order to win, to survive. To come back home.
In my opinion, the reaping in Twelve is worse than watching the actual Games; every year, the reaping is nothing but wishing that your name doesn't come out of that large glass bowl and feeling relieved once it's over because it's not you who's up there next to Effie Trinket but some other familiar face. And you know, like the family of the chosen, you know that you won't see them again because they are not coming back.
It's sickening; it's revolting how the Capitol' people find it entertaining.
I sigh again at my trail of thought while I stand. Pulling some trousers on, I walk inside the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, not really surprised with what I find in front of me: the young man staring at me from the other side looks ill, with dark circles under his blue eyes drained of their long gone cheerfulness and replaced by emptiness. While washing my pale face with cold water, I catch sight of that large scar on my left shoulder through the mirror, but make myself look away quickly.
I hate the scars.
"Ready for today?" asks Percy as I enter the kitchen. He's alone, eating brand new bread and drinking coffee ―today we can have little luxuries, one of us my get picked after all―, while dad seems to be chattering with a costumer at the front of the shop.
"As ready as I can be," I mutter pouring some coffee into a mug. "Where's Parker?"
"How in the world would I know?" snorts Percy.
I pay no attention to my brother as he stuffs his mouth with more warm bread, nor do I pay attention to my mother who walks inside the kitchen then, sneering at who knows what. I look down, because I don't want to be a target of her temperament this morning.
It doesn't go as I expected, though. Because as soon as I hear the voice of the customer who is treading with father, the plate I was taking out from the rack slips from my hand and crashes against the floor. I don't catch it, I know that I could have, but my mind is off to the shop where Katniss Everdeen speaks with father. From what I can listen, there is not much talking, just the exchange of a few words while she searches for her game inside her bag.
"Peeta!" shouts mother looking at me with a death glare, bringing my mind back to the kitchen. She throws at me a broom and adds, "Clean it, useless boy."
While I clay the shattered dish, I can't help but let my head wonder about Katniss, going all the way back to the day that I first talked to her. It was not the best of days though, but I like to think that I helped.
It rained and it was cold to the bone. I was working in some frosting at the shop and keeping an eye on Parker's breads in the oven while he came back from attending a costumer, when I heard my mother's screaming outside. It took me just a second to realize that she was threatening someone in our back yard, someone from the Seam who seemed to have been going through the trash bin. I heard the word Peacekeeper and knew that whoever was outside would be punished if catched.
I peered through the window to see what was happening, and I still can remember her skinny form backing away from mother to a close apple tree, her checks hollowed and lips cracked. I recognized Katniss instantly; she was at my year, and had always catched my attention somehow. We had never really spoken before, but I could find myself staring at her every time I saw her at school; there was just something about her, something that made me unable to look away, still makes me.
So watching her there in the rain under that apple tree, slowly starving to death, was not an option for me. I glanced at Parker's bread in the oven and, as fast as I could, threw the loaves into the fire and took them out so they were not completely burned, just scorched black at the crusts. Mother came into the bakery then and grew even angrier once she saw the ruined bread, and shouted at me for being so useless as she dragged me outside.
"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" she screamed one last time before she slapped me across the face, hard. I expected it, so I simply took the hit. It was nothing. Nothing compared to what I had gone through in the past. And I would take it a thousand times if it meant feeding Katniss.
I began tearing off chunks of the loaves and toss them to the pigs, until I heard the sound of the door being slammed as mother stormed off into the bakery again. Looking over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, I turned to Katniss. Our gazes locked, blue met grey. That's when I started running towards her, getting soaked in just seconds, the bread secured against my chest.
"It's the best I could do," I said and handed her the three loaves. "Take it." I could tell that she looked astonished, protecting the bread from the rain under the jacket ―too big to be hers― as I quickly helped her to her feet. "Go," I rushed her gently when she didn't seem to respond, frozen and staring at me. "Go."
Then I stood there, as I watched her run all the way she had came from.
And of course, I woke up with a cold the day after. But I didn't care, because next time I saw her it was days after at the bakery, treading a squirrel for more bread with father; I was at the door and our eyes met again until she looked down and left. After that, every time we saw each other, at school, at the bakery, anywhere, we would look at each other in that same way; sometimes there was a smile, or a nod, or a 'hi'. It was just a way to acknowledge the other, somehow.
While cleaning the floor, I get closer to the door at the same moment she looks up, and we do it again; our gazes lock and I can help but think that she has the most mesmerizing eyes I've ever seen.
"Didn't see you there, son," says father turning to me, the hint of a smile over his lips. I know what he's thinking, because I'm sure he knows about those feelings I've always had for Katniss. "Your brother was calling for me a minute ago, you come here and trade with Katniss."
I try to hide a smile too; if I'm home, father always lets me trade when it's Katniss at the door, and of course I never complain. It's the only time we speak more than a word to each other and even though Katniss is all for business, it's perfectly fine for me.
Father leaves and I rest the broom against the wall before approaching Katniss, who frowns and tries to look anywhere but me.
"So, let me see what you brought today," I say and Katniss takes out three squirrels from her bag, all three of them shot right trough the eye, like I expected. "How you manage such a great shot, I will never understand," I compliment her and she stays quiet like always, though I can see the corner of her lips twitching up.
I smile as I walk to the back in search for the bread; Katniss barely speaks when I'm around, and I like to think that it's because I manage to spark up something inside her. The truth is that she still feels like she owns me after the bread incident yeas ago, I know she does, even though she shouldn't. I helped her because it was the right thing to do, there is no need to pay me back, it was not like I was going to let her die from starvation at my back yard. I do things for her, like being generous at our trading, because I want her and her family to be alright and not because I want her to give me something in return. But Katniss is like that, can't really help hating owing someone.
So when I come back with two loaves of bread and a frosted cookie, I'm not surprised to see her scowling. "I can't take it," she says, meaning the cookie. An usual tread for three squirrels would be just two loaves of bread, but I know that her little sister, Prim, would love the frosted cookie.
Primrose Everdeen is nothing like her sister. Not just physically; while Katniss looks like a Seam girl ―olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes― Prim has blond locks, blue eyes, and fair skin, like her mother. But I know that Prim is the sweetest and loveliest little girl I'll ever meet; not that Katniss isn't, she's just untrusting.
The first time I talked to Prim was a few years ago at the bakery, and the very first thing she did was complimenting me for my frosting, saying that I was extremely talented for a fourteen year old. Taken by surprise, I smiled and, thinking that a girl of ten so kind was rare and should be treasured, I gave her a pretty frosted cookie. She denied at first, not really sure to have the cookie for nothing in exchange ―that was her sister's influence for sure― but I told her I wanted her to enjoy it because she had made my day saying such a nice thing about my frosting, something no one had ever done before. So she took it happily and sat by me at the front steps; we talked for a little bit, she even told me excitedly about the goat, Lady, that Katniss had given her for her birthday. Her mother came then, kindly said hello, and both left. Prim waved at me, though, a huge smile over her lips while she finished the cookie.
After that, she would always say 'hi' to me at school, or wave. And every first Monday of the month, I gave her a frosted cookie, and if we had time, we talked for a few minutes; she always left a smile on my face, no matter how bad my day had been. Katniss' little sister had that effect on everyone.
"Come on, Katniss," I grin. "It's for Prim. I know you can't really deny anything to her."
She scowls; I know that she's aware about my monthly present for Prim, and she clearly doesn't like it. But she never said anything, because it's truth, she can't deny anything to her sister.
Prim is her only weakness.
"It's just a cookie," I push when Katniss remains quite. "You don't have to owe me anything. Just like you, I like to see Prim happy, that kind of makes my day, you know?" Katniss' expression softens; yeah, she knows what I'm talking about. "Sometimes people give without expecting nothing in return."
She looks me in the eye, curiously, like if trying to read me.
"Fine," she finally says and I only smile as she takes the brown bag with the bread and cookie. She walks to the door and turns one last time, saying, "Good luck today."
"You too," I call after her as she leaves.
I stand there for a few minutes wishing she had stayed longer, but mother stops my daydreaming.
"Peeta!" she calls from another room. I've been so deep into my thoughts that never noticed the time; I've been standing there like a stupid for fifteen minutes and we have to be at the centre of town in half an hour. "Come now and get ready!"
I wash myself and dress with the nice robes I am to wear today at the reaping; I even tame my hair, pulling it backwards and off my eyes. Once we're all ready, we head to the gathering by the Justice Building, feeling the anxiety grow in my insides.
I know that Percy is nervous too, though he tries to look cool, calm and really unnerved about what's happening in just moments. He even jokes and says that if he was chosen, he would be the prettiest winner of the history of the Hunger Games. My brother's silliness actually has the effect desired and calms me a little, while father smiles comfortingly and mother keeps her usual sneer over her features.
We finally make it to the centre of town and meet with Parker, his wife, Lilly, who hugs tightly both Percy and I, and my little nephew, Ethan. Lilly is Parker's long time girlfriend, a really nice and caring girl, who we've known for the past ten years. She's really close, even closer to me than my own mother, though it's not hard to care for someone more than mother. Ethan is eight years old, and to be honest, I can't believe that Parker and Lilly would actually bring a child to the world, knowing that they could see him die the time he turned twelve. I love Ethan dearly, he's smart and kind just like his parents, always brings a smile to my face.
"Uncle Peeta!" he shouts and runs into my arms; I twirl, making him laugh.
"How are you, little man?" I ask putting him down with a grin. "How come you've grown every time I see you? Look at you, you're so tall! And last time we saw each other was, what, this Monday?"
"That's because he follows my lead and eats everything they tell him to eat," jokes Percy with pride, showing off the muscles on his right bicep. "Right, little man? You want to be just like your favourite uncle."
Ethan laughs shortly and looks up at us with big blue eyes.
"I'll tell you who my favourite uncle is after the Reaping," he says with this hopeful smile on his lips. Percy and I look at each other, surprised and touched about what our eight year old nephew has just said. It surprise me how much he's catching up on everything it's happening around him, about The Hunger Games, about us and the changes of getting reaped.
"Of course, little man," says Percy breaking the tension with a grin. He turns to me with a smirk. "We all know the answer, so don't be upset when he says my name, brother."
"We'll see you both for lunch, alright?" says Parker, squeezing my shoulder and patting Percy's back.
With a last reassuring smile to our family, Percy and I walk toward our places.
"What do you think about having that wrestling match you owe me after this, ah?" asks Percy with a playful smirk. "Last time I let you win. I won't be such a good brother this time around."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Percy," I say with a smile, before he punches my arm and I leave him at the eighteen boys' section.
I scan the crowd and my eyes find Katniss first; she looks actually calm, her gaze falling somewhere behind me, where I left Percy. I realize that she's looking at Gale Hawthorne, her long time friend, friend or whatever he is to her. They seem to have this silent conversation by staring at each other, and for a moment I wish I was at Gale's place, I wish Katniss was that close to me.
I'm actually surprised that she's not watching closely at her sister, who's at the front with the other twelve year old girls; but then I remember that Katniss didn't let her apply for the tesserae, so there is only one slip with Prim's name in the big glass bowl with thousand of slips. This thought, unexpectedly, makes me release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
I guess I'm truly and so deeply fond of Prim because she reminds me of Lucy.
I see the mayor and a clearly drunk Haymitch enter the stage. Haymitch Abernathy is the only one still alive from District Twelve who won the Hunger Games, and after he came home he instantly drowned in alcohol all the horrors he must have lived inside that arena.
He's a good man, though, I know that. He helped me when no one else would have.
The mayor speaks but my mind shuts him down; I don't want to hear him speak about the Capitol and President Snow and The Hunger Games as if they were the best thing that's ever happened to Panem. It disgusts me and always awakens a rage inside me, though I'm always sure to never show it. I mask it, like I've learned to do with every emotion some memories drag along.
Effie Trinket walks into the stage then, wearing a ridiculously green jacket and pink wig. Bright and bubbly as ever, Effie Trinket gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors.
"Ladies firsts!" she exclaims cheerfully and her hand dives inside the right glass ball for a few seconds before catching one slip on her fingers.
My mind races and I look at my feet, praying it's not Katniss' name on that slip.
It's not, I reassure to myself, she'll be safe.
As soon as I look down, though, something else catches my eye: that old and nasty scar on my left wrist, small and round like. For the many scars that mark my body, I think this one is the worst, not only because all scars are defined into it, but because I get to see it all the time. It's exposed and just one look down makes me come across it. I hate it.
I hate the scars.
"Primrose Everdeen!"
I freeze. I can't breathe, I know what it's coming.
"No! Prim!" it's her voice. "Prim! I volunteer, I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
And this fast, the scars don't seem so important anymore.
